“Jazz, I’m going to go and let you rest. You look very tired.” He walked over to me and held my hand gently. “Please forgive me. I hope you feel the same about me that I feel about you. I knew it the first time we met, but I knew it for sure that night when our souls connected. I feel it as I’m standing here. I hope it’s the same for you. I love you.” He leaned forward and kissed my head. “I will be back in the morning.”
In the morning. God, what was that going to be like? Sabrina knew, but didn’t know about my consistent contact with Kenneth. She didn’t know that I was using at least every other day, sometimes every day and she certainly didn’t know that the amount had almost doubled. Jonathan knew absolutely nothing; Professor Diffie only knew that my work had dramatically improved, not only proficiency but in content and the only other person was Kenneth, and he certainly wouldn’t have told anyone because in an indirect way, he was responsible.
In fact, thinking about it, the police would certainly want to know where I was getting this drug from. That meant I would have no choice but to tell them. I was going to have to turn in this kind, quiet college kid who was paying his way through college by selling drugs. Many would judge him, but he was doing what he had to and no one was making his customers buy from him. He was simply there. This was certain to turn into a complete and total drama before all was said and done.
The only solace that I could find was knowing that my father, being an attorney, as angry as he was going to be, would do his best to expunge any information that he could. Even if he was angry with me or wanted nothing to do with me, he would certainly never want his colleagues or his potential or current clients to know that his only daughter, his pride and joy, was actually a demented, addicted drug user who was abusing not just a small time drug once in a while, but a major drug, a very addictive, dangerous drug like meth on a regular basis.
I thought back to my home town paper and what the articles would be like. Surely, my history in school would be recanted – my history with the school paper, my stellar academic record, my community service with underprivileged children, my service on the student council as secretary and my volunteer work with my father’s firm – it would all be in question as this nightmare was to unfold. Certainly, dad would be able to curtail much of this. Hopefully…prayerfully. In the morning.
Chapter Sixteen
Somehow, I had fallen asleep after Jonathan had left. The nurse must have put something in my IV after the doctors left and all of my visitors left. For the rest of the evening, I don’t remember much except for medical personnel coming in and out of the room, not saying anything, writing things down and leaving quietly. I was woken by the sun coming in the blinds and the doctor coming into the room. I could tell it was early and thankfully, my vision was somewhat clearer.
I could see a huge white clock with generic black numbers which hung over the whiteboard and while the doctor checked over me, a nurse was changing the date and the peoples’ names who would be caring for me during that day. It was 7:30 a.m. according to the clock, but I felt surprisingly refreshed.
“Good morning Jasmine. You slept very well last night.” He looked over the notes from the midnight shift to double-check a couple of things and then let me know that the breathing tube which was down my throat was going to be removed.
“It’s a bit uncomfortable, but doesn’t take long. Your throat will be sore, but I’ll make sure that you are given ice chips as you can tolerate them. Does that sound OK?”
I patted once. He smiled for the first time.
“It’s good to see that your memory hasn’t been affected – at least your short term memory.” (He was referring to my patting the mattress.) “The gentlemen that I spoke of are expecting to come about nine o’clock. Your mother and a couple of your friends have already called but I told them to plan on coming about ten. Does that sound OK with you?” Surprisingly, I was able to nod just a little.
“Good! Your neck muscles are at least regaining a little bit of strength. I’ll see you in a little bit.”
Within about five minutes, two nurses came in with a tray and carefully, quickly took out the breathing tube. I felt it scratch all the way down from what felt like my toes, but it was out. I took a breath and it hurt to breathe. One of the nurses spoke up.
“Not so fast. SLOW, shallow breaths at first. Are you OK?”
I whispered. “Yes.” She smiled. “Good! Would you like something to wet your mouth? It must be very dry.”
I said yes, expecting something like ice or water, but she brought a wet cloth and a sponge on a stick that tasted like lemon soap and wiped around the inside of my lips and mouth with them.
“I know. It’s not Diet Dr. Pepper, but until your throat has a chance to regain its ability to swallow, which might take a little bit of time, we have to be careful. We wouldn’t want you to choke.”
Of course not. I nose dived off of a third story building, but a small chip of ice would certainly be a health hazard at this point. I read her name tag. Her name was Ann. Plain and simple. I liked it and felt safe for some reason. If it had been something weird or unheard of, I would have probably asked for another nurse. At this point, I needed normalcy. As much as possible and as quick as possible.
“Your pulse is high. And your blood pressure. Probably the stress of the tube coming out. I’m going to come back and check on it in about a half hour, OK?”
“OK. Thank you.” I was able to answer her this time. My voice was raspy, but my voice was clear. I mimed with my hands if I could have something to write with and write on. She watched for a moment and then said, “Great idea! That way your voice can rest.”
I knew that I was going to be questioned, but she didn’t and came back quickly with a whiteboard and a marker.
She showed me a buzzer and said, “If you need anything, push this. I’ll be back shortly to check on you, OK?” She smiled, stuck some things in her pocket and left the room.
OK, I thought. Here we go. What am I going to say? I’m going to just have to tell the truth. There’s no getting out of it. I was a victim the first time, and maybe even the second time, but after months of using it, even behind my best friend’s back, I was a drug user. And, I was fixing to face the consequences, whatever they may be. And with that thought, the door opened. Two gentleman, one in a suit, the other in a pull over blue collar shirt and slacks, came in.
“Hi, Jasmine. How are you?”
They appeared to be friendly and stood at the door. I laid in the bed, waiting for them to introduce themselves, pull out handcuffs, read me my rights, and then thought that maybe I had been watching too many SVU programs.
I wrote on the board. “I’m fine. I know why you’re here. So, what would you like to know?”
Chapter Seventeen
The man in the blue collar shirt was about mid-thirties and smiled.
“You don’t beat around the bush, do you? I like that.” He pulled out a pad of paper along with the other gentleman. I wrote on the board again.
“What are your names and do I need an attorney present?” They read it and asked, “Would you like an attorney present?”
Communicating with the board, I explained to them that no one, especially my family, knew about what had happened. They knew that I had been attacked the first time, but not the specifics about the drugs. They certainly did not know about the continued or heightened use of the drugs – only the great grades I was sending home and what the hospital had told them. I asked them if I should consult with my father first, but I was assured that they were simply asking questions at this point.
They also said that, if at any point, they felt that there was criminal activity on my part, that they would stop questioning and then I should speak with my father in private. I wasn’t sure but I couldn’t bear the thought of talking with my father. I thought about it and asked if I could speak to a legal representative first but changed my mind, remembering that everyone was going to be there at ten o’clock. I had to fa
ce the music, now or never. In the shape I was in, they couldn’t handcuff me and remove me from the hospital bed at any rate, so I felt relatively safe. I asked if my doctor could be present and they agreed. I rang the buzzer and asked if he would come in.
I wrote on the board and asked where the social worker was at. My doctor explained that he was coming in later – he might actually come in while the detectives were still there, but he would definitely be stopping in this morning. I asked exactly what his purpose would be and the doctor smiled.
“One thing at a time. Let’s let you talk with these gentlemen first, are you OK with that?” I wrote back, ‘If you are’. And we began.
The detective in the suit was older. He showed me his badge which totally freaked me out and simply said, “Detective English.” The other showed me the badge on his belt and said, “Detective Smith, but you can call me Ben. Is that OK?”
I wondered if they were playing “good cop, bad cop”, but decided again that I had been watching too much television. I agreed to begin and they began to ask me questions.
At first the questions were standard – my name, age, where I was from, if I had ever had a police record of any kind, and things like that. Obviously, they knew all of these things, but wanted to hear them from me as well – either to corroborate their information to test my sanity or to see if I was truthful. Either way, all went well.
I wrote on the board. “Why don’t you go ahead and ask me the questions that you came to ask me?” I wasn’t being sarcastic, but anxious to get it over with and they could tell. Certainly, someone with a squeaky clean record who had been raped by seven unknown suspects, still at large, after being given meth without any knowledge and then becoming addicted to the drug, as police, they had seen this before, especially in a college town.
Before we started, I asked them if I could ask a question and Ben said, “Shoot. No pun intended,” and he smiled again, trying to put me at ease. I asked if these kinds of things were common in college towns.
Detective English answered. “What kind of things? Attacks or drug use?”
I wrote down – “Both.” He spoke for the first time in a more human voice. “Unfortunately, yes. Kids come to college and experience independence and some adult responsibility for the first time, and they just don’t know how to handle it. They don’t realize what goes on in the world. Young, pretty, naïve young girls like yourself commonly become easy victims. As cops, (I hated the word cops) we see the worst of the worst so I guess we’re a little jaded, but if you had to compare college towns with larger rural areas, there are quite a few more sex crimes and drug use is rampant.”
Ben chimed in. “You got assaulted. That doesn’t happen as often. Certainly, date rape drugs are used all the time, and usually the victim can identify the perpetrators, but you were in a house with people you didn’t know, and seven males who you had never met in your life got you alone in a room, locked a door and…” then he stopped, realizing that he was upsetting me. “Well, you know the rest. I realize that this case is still open and that you still have a lot of questions, but I also understand that you haven’t seen a therapist yet. Am I right so far?”
I patted once. Dr. Broughman smiled. “She’s saving her voice. One pat means yes, two means no.”
Ben continued.
“The problem is that this has been months ago and now we have you in an intensive care unit because you did a Peter Pan out of your college window because you were so high on methamphetamines that you didn’t realize what you were doing and, unfortunately, now the attack and the unknown drug use is irrelevant, at least to this incident.”
“Because of the seriousness of methamphetamine use, especially in this area, and because you were using this drug willfully and choicefully, this makes you a person of interest. Do you understand what I am saying so far?”
And there it was. As plain and simple as it could get. I would have a record. I wrote that down.
Ben answered. “That’s not what I said. The legal system is very complicated and, under the circumstances, with your record, your history, a father with a reputation like he has and the right judge, if you are willing to cooperate with the law enforcement agencies that you are dealing with, you could come out of this with a misdemeanor and court-mandated drug counseling. Much of this is going to depend on how you work with us…is that OK?”
He continued. “Are you feeling any withdrawals at all? The doctors said that the first few days you were here, they had to give you alternative medications to help with the withdrawals, but how do you feel right now?”
I nervously smiled. “Just peachy.” They both smiled. Detective English looked at me square in the eye. “I hurt all over, but I think that would be normal considering my injuries,” I whispered in a raspy voice.
“I think it’s time for you to talk with your father alone, Jasmine. You need to tell him everything. We will check back with you in a couple of days. We’re going to talk with your doctor and see how long you’re expected to be in the hospital, but the sooner we can clear this up, the better. Are you willing to work with us?”
I couldn’t believe I was considering being a snitch on the one person who had helped me all of this time. But, I knew that, in reality he was helping himself. He was paying his bills and I almost died. Drug dealing seems like a victimless crime and, while no one held a gun to my head and made me take the drugs, he and I both knew they were dangerous and I knew, in my gut, that he needed to be stopped. I was stupid, but he had the avenue that I willfully went down because of my stupidity. I sighed.
“I have to do what the right thing is to do. I’ve let everyone I know and love down and probably lost my career. But more importantly, I could have died. And, if this person is selling something to young people, someone else really could die or become paralyzed, because of what he is selling. Of course I will work with you.” They both smiled, patted my hand and my doctor winked at me.
“That’s what I want to hear. We’ll see you soon. Get some rest.” Ben smiled and, surprisingly, so did Detective English.
“I’ll be back in a moment,” Dr. Broughman smiled. He stepped outside with them and I could hear them talking lowly outside the door, but I could also hear my family coming down the hall. I had to switch my countenance and face the reality that my father and I were fixing to have a very serious talk. Not in front of everyone, but I was going to have to have him stay and everyone else leave. The show was about to begin and I didn’t feel like the star, even though mine was the lead role.
Chapter Eighteen
The next few days were the hardest days of my life. Being gang raped by strangers was nothing compared to having to face my father and admit that I was voluntarily using methamphetamines to get through college and buying them from a seasoned drug dealer.
That morning, the first morning that I was able to speak, everyone came in with flowers and non-stop chat, as if we were at a public social, excited, ecstatic that I was feeling better and mom was even planning a spa day for me once I was released and feeling up to it so I could get back to my “old self”. What I would give to be my old self, but I couldn’t tell her. I wondered if dad would tell her or if he would be able to figure out a way to handle this legal nightmare and somehow keep it secret.
Even if he did, how would I ever be able to hide a rehabilitation center for drug users? I couldn’t just answer the phone like I did in the dorm because they took your cell phones, your jewelry, your deodorant, even your hair shampoo in places like that because they were afraid you might hurt yourself or try to get high on things like mouthwash or the aerosol from the hairspray. God, what have I done?
I took all of the pleasantries and fake happy talk that I could and politely asked Sabrina to tell everyone that I was getting really tired. Of course, mom rushed over.
“Well, of course, dear, what were we thinking? You need your beauty rest! You’re going to get better and get back into school and here we are talking about silly things like wh
at kind of boots are on sale at Gimbal’s…” She smiled and wiped my bangs off of my forehead, as she had my whole life. My poor sweet mother certainly didn’t deserve this. What would this do to her?
After I had been attacked at the first party, the police were very discreet and even though my father had access to all of my legal paperwork as my attorney, he was extremely discreet and obviously never told my mother the horror of what had happened to me that night. As far as my mother knew, I had simply been attacked, smacked around a couple of times, and fallen and broken my arm.
Now there was no more denying the total truth. She was fixing to find out, along with everyone else, that I had been sodomized by seven total strangers, people who could have diseases that I still wouldn’t know about, and that I had actually become addicted to the very drug that poisoned my latte that night and had now poisoned my very soul.
I wondered sometimes when I walked past people in the grocery store or on the campus - “Are you one of them? Did you do this to me?” Every time a guy my age looked at me in any way, I was sure he was one of them and that he was secretly laughing at his victory. They had taken a life, a seemingly perfect life that had been carefully constructed and, in one night, had stolen my virginity, my innocence, and the absolute essence of the person that I was. Things I would never be able to get back, no matter how hard I might try.
Everyone was carefully kissing my cheek, forehead, patting my hand, and heading out the door. Quietly, I said, “Dad…could I talk to you for a minute?” Mom stopped.
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